


Stars Lit Up Like a Candle Light

by idoltina



Series: Holiday Land [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion, F/M, Holidays, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9601790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: Set approximately six weeks after the end ofLet the Silver Voices Guide You. Without the regular turn of seasons, for Regina the arrival of June means mere memories of summers in the northern hemisphere, and the sophomore stage of a long stretch without any of the Land’s holidays to mark the time. Now, though, Regina thinks she may have uncovered a way to interject some festivities into the drought of mid-year.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiralnebulaM31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralnebulaM31/gifts).



> **Warnings:** adult language, sexual situations

When the antique clock on her desk finally ticks its way to twelve, Regina clicks _save_ on her current project file, pushes her keyboard and mouse away, and turns her computer screen off. She grabs a pen and a sticky note to jot down a quick reminder to stop by the Oversight library after work to grab some resources for her annual review — the original _Frankenstein_ , as well as both versions of _The Haunting_ — before finally pushing herself to her feet and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress, ready to make the most of her time. She’s shrugging into the spare peacoat she keeps stashed in her office closet when Ruby walks in, daily mail and interdepartmental memos in hand. “Going somewhere?” Ruby asks, shuffling through the stacks to sort out which absolutely _has_ to be left on Regina’s desk first.

“Lunch?” Regina laughs, flipping her hair over the collar of the coat and reaching for her purse.

Ruby pauses in her rifling, eyes shifting to the clock on Regina’s desk before flicking up. “You’re taking your hour early today,” she remarks. Another pause, gives Regina a once over before arching an eyebrow and musing, “Going somewhere arctic?”

Regina rolls her eyes as she adjusts the strap of her purse and reaches for the small square box on her desk. “If you must know, I’m taking Robin to lunch.”

Ruby’s lips curve into a wicked smile, but she dutifully drops her gaze back to the mail in her hands and resumes sorting. “I assume I’m supposed to withhold any remarks about the fact that he usually takes his lunch later than you do.”

“As well as any quips about me popping out for some afternoon delight, yes,” Regina sighs, moving around to the front of her desk. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Again, Ruby pauses in her work, chances a half-glance over at where Regina’s come to a stop next to her before biting her lip and looking back down, clearly trying not to laugh. “You said it, not me.”

“Keep that up and you won’t get me to play wingwoman for you on Friday night,” Regina warns lightly, ignoring Ruby’s indignant _Hey!_ when she tips the wide brim of Ruby’s hat over her eyes before moving toward the door.

“Yeah, right,” Ruby calls after her. “And in forty-eight years, how many times have I failed at getting you to go out with me?”

“There’s always a first time for everything,” Regina calls back cheerfully, not bothering to look back as she tosses back a wave. “If Mal asks for me, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Ruby laughs after her, and it should irritate Regina, that she doesn’t get the last word here, but it’s only Ruby, just a game, and to be honest, she wants to spend her time wisely.

There are better things she can be doing, after all.

When she steps outside, she’s met with the usual overcast skies and brisk chill of Halloween Town, and while the coat might be a bit much here, long term, she knows she’ll be grateful for it the second she steps through the door to Christmas Town. It’s been… an adjustment, certainly, to try and find ways to be prepared for her visits to Robin’s town, be they planned or spontaneous or otherwise. In her more than half of a century in Holiday Land, Regina has spent precious little time in Christmas Town outside of the usual post holiday party and the occasional business meeting. After Robin — after _April_ , Regina’s had more little jaunts into Christmas Town than she has in fifty plus years put together, so adjusting to the snow has become more and more of a necessity with each one.

Holiday Land makes adjusting to varying weather conditions, easy, though. Each town has its own climate and weather patterns, almost always the same with very little variation (Mother Nature prefers to save her wild side for the Surface, apparently), which makes it easy to predict and prepare for any travel between. The closest climate to Halloween Town’s gray and gusty days is easily the Grove: the forest path to the Oversight building is constantly littered with orange and brown leaves, the air autumnal and the light neither bright nor dim.

Everywhere else holds a much sharper contrast. There’s always snow on the ground in Christmas Town even if it’s not actively falling. New Year’s Town boasts the sultry heat of summer nights, backlit by moonlight. Easter Town is the closest thing Holiday Land has to actual seasons: it needs the varying weather patterns for the farmland to thrive, and the residents there are usually better prepared than anyone else for inter-holiday travel. Valentine’s Town boasts bright and cheerful sun during the day, never overwarm, but its nights are shrouded by torrential rains, the air misty and warm. The ground is always dry by the time the sun rises — a quirk of magic, Regina thinks — and each day the landscape boasts lush, rich greens and pops of color as if all plant-life has bloomed anew.

She’d wondered, at the post Valentine’s party this year, what had happened in Saint Valentine’s haven to cause Mother Nature to neglect its once-gorgeous garden and glen, and then, well.

Suffice it to say Regina had found herself a little distracted the rest of that evening.

Today, Regina is ready for the cold snap against her calves when she lands in Christmas Town, and she’s pleased to find that for the first time in six weeks, her teeth don’t automatically chatter upon her arrival. The path down into the town is clear, snow banked on the sides, and she finds herself grateful for the easy walk to the office buildings next to Santa’s workshop.

Without the regular turn of seasons, for Regina the arrival of June means mere memories of summers in the northern hemisphere, and the sophomore stage of a long stretch without any of the Land’s holidays to mark the time. Now, though, Regina thinks she may have uncovered a way to interject some festivities into the drought of mid-year, but she can’t quite help the way her stomach flutters in nervous anticipation as she approaches Robin’s office and adjusts the small box in her hand.

His door is ajar when she arrives, but she lingers at the threshold once she catches sight of him, a smile playing at her lips as she leans against the frame. It _is_ still early in his shift, she knows, and he’s clearly in the thick of it now, folders piled high atop each filing cabinet for recategorizing, green progress bar blinking on his computer screen in the background. His desk, at least, is mostly clear of any unnecessary clutter or debris save for two pages, and it’s here she finds his attention focused. He’s standing behind his desk, which doesn’t surprise her — he can never sit still for more than an hour or two at a time, she’s noticed — sleeves rolled up to the elbows and collar undone, tie tossed carelessly over the back of his chair. His hands are planted firmly on his hips while he peruses the pages with a slight frown, reading glasses perched carefully on his nose.

Regina grins, tugging her lip between her teeth at the sight of them. The discovery of _those_ last month had been equal parts amusing — he’d brought them down from the Surface, grumbled to her about immortality not actually being a cure-all upon recruitment — and surprisingly… attractive. Oh, she’d teased him mercilessly about having something in common with Santa, sure, but Robin does wear them well, and she is not exactly immune to his charms. The first time she’d caught him wearing them at work, they’d parted ways after lunch both a little worse for the wear — her hair decidedly mussed, a stark stain of lipstick on his collar.

Okay, so maybe Ruby’s assumptions about Regina popping out for some afternoon delight aren’t… entirely off the mark.

Today, though, Regina is a woman with a mission, so it’s with a soft inhale that she snaps herself out of her study and raps lightly against the office door. “Hey, stranger.”

The immediacy with which Robin’s entire expression shifts and softens into something warm when he looks at her still knocks the breath out of her, even after several months, and she can’t even be bothered to be upset when he pulls the glasses off and sets them on his desk. “Hello,” he chuckles, moving around his desk to come greet her properly. “This is a nice surprise.”

“That was the goal,” she laughs, heart picking up pace in anticipation as he slows to a stop in front of her, hand reaching out to find purchase at her elbow. She can’t help but grin into the kiss he claims, bright and bemused as he busses a second, and a third against her lips before finally pulling away. “I thought I could treat you to lunch, maybe that little hole in the wall in New Year’s Town you like so much — the one that makes those delicious samosas?”

Robin’s smile turns a little crooked as he considers her, hand sweeping her hair back to gain access to the nape of her neck. “Not that I’m opposed,” he says, fingertips tracing idly at her skin in a way that makes her want to shiver, “but it’s a bit early for me yet. I’ve at least another hour before I’d consider taking my lunch.”

“I know,” she replies, reaching up with her free hand to straighten out his collar as means of distracting herself from his touch. “We don’t have to leave right away. I have something I want to give you anyway — do _not_ ,” she warns, snapping her eyes up to glare at him only to find him fighting hard not to laugh. “I’m being serious,” she says, gently pressing the box against his chest.

She’s pleased when he glances down and honestly looks surprised that she’s brought him what is very clearly a gift, eyebrow arching quizzically before reaching over to take it from her. “You do realize we’ve half a year until Christmas?” he teases, eyes practically _twinkling_ with mischief when he looks back up at her.

Her answering exasperated sigh is halfhearted, at best, overshadowed by the smile that twists its way back onto her lips in spite of her best efforts to bite it back. “Thank you,” she drawls, pushing herself away from the doorjamb and shoving lightly at his shoulder so she can step into the room. “I don’t know how I would’ve survived, come December, without a reminder from one of Santa’s little helpers.”

She’s barely set her purse down on his desk before he’s dropping the box next to it and hooking an arm around her waist, pulling her back flush against him and startling a gasp out of her. “You know,” he murmurs, lips pressed right against her ear, “if you’re going to insist on being _cheeky_ , I may have a word with the boss about switching you over to the naughty list.”

The smile she bites back is gone almost as soon as it blossoms, heart sinking a little once the realization sinks in that there are still so, so many things he doesn’t know about her, and each last one is enough to have her gut twisting guiltily with regret and remorse. She forces herself to swallow the burn of it down, takes a breath to steady herself and manages to keep her voice light in spite of not feeling ready to turn around and face him just yet. “I thought I was already on the naughty list,” she flirts back, “or have you decided to fuck around with the nice list as well and sweep the darling of Valentine’s Town off of her feet, too?”

“You forget,” Robin points out, and she absolutely does not miss the way his voice turns low, warm for her benefit, “that I have a hand in each list. There’s no need to look for thrills elsewhere when I’ve got the best of both right here.”

“Okay, _sap_ ,” she snorts, trusting herself enough to turn around in his arms. “I was joking.”

“I know,” he says simply, thoroughly unperturbed. He sinks a hand in her hair and tilts her head up, dropping a quick kiss to her lips. “Reminding you anyway.”

“Oh my god, _here_ ,” she laughs, reaching back to pluck the box from the desk and forcing it back into his hands. “Let me give _you_ a toothache, for a change.”

His eyes light up, lips curving into a smile. “Have I done something to earn one of your famous candied apples early this year?”

“ _Halloween_ is punctual,” she counters, unable to help the laugh that bubbles out of her. “It’s Christmas that comes early, remember?”

“ _Cheeky_ ,” he mutters again, squeezing her waist affectionately, but he’s still smiling when he releases her and turns his attention back to the box in his hands. Regina tugs her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation as Robin pries off the lid, and she’s not at all surprised at the way his face crinkles in confusion, just a little, once he sees what’s inside. “What’s this?”

“It’s a cupcake.”

“Yes, I can still see just fine without the reading glasses, _thank you_ ,” he laughs. “I was inquiring as to the occasion for it.”

Here, her heart starts to beat a little faster again, because she does not do this, hasn’t done this in _years_ , hasn’t so much as had the slightest desire to do so even for herself. Doing it for someone else, for _Robin_ holds more weight than it probably should. It’s not as though it’s entirely out of character for her — she’d given him the book of legends and myths, back in March, after all — but this is just… different. This sort of thing is much more in Robin’s wheelhouse, finding silver linings. And while his own sometimes irritatingly persistent and belligerent optimism has perhaps rubbed off on her a bit, Regina thinks that more than anything, he’s simply discovered the person she’d buried at nineteen, and again at twenty-four.

In the space of six months, Regina has remembered how to breathe below the Surface, and in the space between two lungs beats a heart that is vying _valiantly_ to be brave once more.

What’s life — or immortality — without a little risk, anyway?

So it’s with all the bravado she can muster that she leans against his desk and grips the edges tight, features schooled into a near perfect picture of bemusement. “Well it _is_ your birthday, isn’t it?”

Robin blinks at her a little, lips parting slightly in surprise, and there’s no mistaking the sheer incredulity in his voice when he answers. “Yes,” he says slowly. “How did you —”

“I have my sources,” she dismisses, deliberately withholding the information.

His eyes narrow, just for a fraction of a second, before understanding dawns on his features. “Belle,” he surmises — correctly, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of being sure. “She could have gotten you access to the Oversight records.”

“There’s a candle in my purse,” she says instead, ignoring him. “Just one, though. I don’t think that poor cupcake could handle — what would it be now, forty-two candles? Bit of a silver fox now, are you?”

He barks out a dry laugh, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he studies her. “If I hadn’t stopped aging nine years ago, yes.” He hesitates for a beat, and then, "I’m not… ungrateful about all of this, but I’m just a bit at a loss as to why you’ve gone to all the trouble. No one ever celebrates birthdays down here — there’s no _point_ , after recruitment.”

“True,” Regina allows, “but the stretch between Easter and Halloween is a tad… dull. And while I’m not keen on manufactured moments, I _am_ rather fond of you. A little, anyway,” she tacks on, trying to downplay the sentiment.

“Only a little, of course,” he agrees, but there is knowing in his voice and his smile, and her regard hasn’t gone unmarked.

“We’re never going to age,” she says needlessly, trying to retain some control over the conversation. “Short of returning to the Surface, that’s never going to change. And sure, we can celebrate all kinds of other milestones — holidays and recruitment anniversaries and plenty of other things, but… you’re right. We don’t bother with birthdays down here because we don’t fall under Father Time’s jurisdiction anymore.”

“And yet,” Robin muses, glancing pointedly down at the box containing his cupcake.

Her lips twist, crack open into an _embarrassingly_ sheepish smile, and she shrugs her shoulder slightly in surrender. “You might not be aging anymore but… that doesn’t mean you’re not worth celebrating. And… it seemed like a pretty good way,” she adds, voice growing a little quieter, “to show up.”

The breath he lets out is heavy, weighted like it’s been punched out of him, and while she probably should have been prepared for the look in his eyes — the one she’s seen more and more since that night in April — she in turn is surprised to find that she’s very much not. It has her heart stuttering in her chest again, fighting to remain Below and Alive as Robin simply _stares_ at her for a good half moment longer before he shakes his head, huffs out a noise of disbelief as he reaches around and behind her to set the box back on his desk. Every last vestige of nerves and anxiety and tension are _gone_ the second he pulls her into his arms properly and presses a firm kiss to her temple, hand anchored gently against the back of her head. “Every time I think you couldn’t possibly be more of a marvel, you prove me wrong,” he mumbles against her skin. “Will you _ever_ stop surprising me?”

“God, I hope not,” she chuckles, eyes slipping shut as she curls into his warmth. “The rest of eternity would be awfully boring, otherwise.”

“Yes, I imagine it would,” he laughs, light and maybe a little wet, though she can’t be sure. “How you ever survived half a century on your own, I’ll never know.”

“Oh, I had Ruby for most of it,” she muses, a hint of teasing in her tone. “She definitely keeps things interesting — life of the party and all that.”

“Ah, no wonder you were such a spoilsport at the post Valentine’s party,” he quips back. “You were simply out of practice.”

“Watch it,” she warns, pinching his side and pulling back a little when he squirms. “I may take that cupcake back if you’re not nice.”

“All yours,” he murmurs, hands dipping beneath her coat and skimming along her sides before falling down and around her waist and settling at the small of her back. “I had my eye on something a bit better.”

And before she can even so much as _sigh_ in exasperation at him, his mouth is on hers, stealing kisses she would grant him freely anyway. He pulls a smile out of her one kiss at a time, slow and soft until she arches ever so slightly against him, hands sliding up the length of his torso to settle just below his neck. She toys with his open collar between kisses, fingers dipping beneath the fabric to brush lightly against the skin there. She’s rewarded when he finally breaks a kiss with purpose, but his lips are landing again with ease — against the corner of her mouth, along her cheek, the spot just below her ear. He ducks in once more, seeking her neck, but the collar of her coat impedes him, and after a second attempt he huffs in exasperation, hands pulling away to push at the edges of her coat.

“Here,” she chuckles lightly, pressing a hand to his chest to keep enough distance between them for a half moment. She shrugs out of her coat with ease and folds it neatly, twisting a little to carefully drape it over the back of his desk chair. When she turns back to face him, though, he doesn’t immediately reach for her, just stares at her honestly looking a little gobsmacked for a second. Regina glances down at her dress for a second — the red one with the soft little sleeves she likes so much — before she flicks her gaze back up to him pointedly, lips twisting into a smile. “See something you like?”

“You know bloody well I do,” he mutters, taking a half step forward and crowding into her space until she bumps against the edge of the desk again. He sinks a hand back into her hair and crashes his lips to hers for a long, hot second in a kiss far too biting to be appropriate. But he moves on quickly, takes advantage of the access to all of the extra exposed skin and presses, drags, sucks wet kisses along the column of her throat.

It occurs to her, for a brief, idle flash, that they are currently _necking_ in his office, but before a laugh can even begin to bubble up out of her chest, his free hand is grasping her hip and tugging her forward to meet him, body pressed flush against hers and oh, _oh_ , that’s… more than nice, has arousal stirring low in her belly. And somehow _that’s_ the thing that keeps her grounded, the reminder that she can’t exactly _do_ anything about that here and now, so it’s with a touch of reluctance that she opens her eyes and tries to snap him out of it. “I have less than an hour before I have to be back at work,” she sighs, fingers curling into his shirt. “We should really — _oh!_ We should really… go,” she tries, a bit breathless as his hand skims along her hip, tempting, “if you want to grab lunch.”

“Later,” he murmurs, lifting his head from her neck just long enough to lock eyes with her for a second. “Dessert first.”

This time he doesn’t even give her the chance to _think_ about any remark or reaction whatsoever, just captures her lips once more and rocks against her slightly and oh, _oh_. He’s hard against her hip, not even _trying_ to hide it and when did her arms wind around his neck, shit, shit, shit this is bad. This is zero to practically eighty in the blink of an eye, well beyond the usual point of return and they absolutely cannot do this right now — not here. “We are _not_ having sex in your office,” she gasps as she wrenches her mouth away from his, squirming a little at the sudden slickness between her thighs. “Especially not when your assistant could walk in on us.”

“My assistant,” he echoes, voice sounding deliciously wrecked, god, he is not helping here, “is on an errand at Oversight. She won’t be back for a while yet.” His fingers dig into her hip purposefully, equal parts temptation and buffer, and though he _clearly_ wants to keep going — wants _her_ , now, he lets her make the call. “We have time.”

She takes a few seconds to catch her breath, tries to make herself glance around the room for some indication of the time and utterly fails, driven to distraction at the way his lips are stained with a slight hue of red. “You’re sure we have time?” she asks, running her thumb along his bottom lip.

“Positive,” he promises, and she doesn’t miss the way he swallows hard in anticipation, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Any logical deliberation is pretty much out the window at this point, and it’s with her mouth practically already back on his that she breathes _lock the door_ against his skin, muffling his answering moan with a kiss. “God, I hope the walls aren’t thin,” she mumbles between kisses.

“Brick,” he mutters back, the assurance punctuated with the definitive clicks of the door being shut and the lock turning firmly into place and god, Regina loves magic. His fingers dip down, grapple with the hem of her dress before tugging up, and she cannot be bothered to feel anything even remotely resembling shame as he pushes her dress up past her hips, material bunching around her waist. He presses one last hard, searing kiss against her lips, leaning in until the edge of the desk is digging almost uncomfortably against her lower back. But his body is right back up against hers for a minute and god, she can feel him so much better like this, with one less layer between them.

When he breaks the kiss, he makes a point to look her directly in the eyes as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, and though she could take the pause as an offering for an out, they both know full well it’s not even an option under consideration. “Be as loud as you like,” he murmurs, low and edging, and Regina can’t help huffing out a slight laugh as he starts to to tug her underwear down.

“You are… a _terrible_ influence,” she sighs, gripping the edge of the desk for purchase as she watches him slowly kneel in front of her, dragging her underwear down to her ankles.

“Yes, you seem quite out of sorts about it,” he huffs teasingly, tapping at her calf to get her to move. She shakes her head at him but smiles anyway and obliges, shifting her weight a little to keep her balance as she makes to step out of her heels. “Leave them,” he says, lifting one foot at a time so he can finally get her underwear off the rest of the way.

She throws him a _look_ even though his attention is elsewhere, her tone making it clear that she does have _some_ set of bottoms lines when it comes to sex and logistics. “Sorry to ruin the fantasy here,” she deadpans, “but I am not having sex with heels on. It’s impractical and, honestly? A disaster waiting to happen.”

“You can take them off later,” he murmurs, earning him a disgruntled huff, which he promptly ignores. “Right now, they give you a bit of extra height, and it is… _just_ the right amount,” he breathes, voice tinged with arousal as he smoothes his hands over her calves, gaze slowly shifting up, up, up along her legs until his eyes lock with hers once more. “Spread your legs a bit for me, darling.”

“ _Darling_ is not _please_ ,” she counters, voice low and absolutely affected and she cannot, _cannot_ be bothered to mask her arousal now.

So the gasp that escapes her as he drags his hands up, up, up along the back of her legs is high and entirely unrestrained, and her breath hitches, stills and sticks as his hands curl around to grab her ass and pull her off of the edge of the desk. He shifts on his knees, brings his face level with the space between her thighs, and her toes positively _curl_ in her heels at the blown blue of his eyes when he flicks his gaze back up to hers. “Please.”

Her legs part without a second thought, feet shifting to widen her stance a little and give her better balance, and she swallows _hard_ at the way Robin gently pushes at her hip to get her to lean back at a slight angle so that she’s almost perched upon his desk. He has a point, she supposes — he certainly has better access to her like this, anyway. She doesn’t miss the way his lips curve into a smile as he shifts his attention to where she’s bare and open for him, but the _smug, asshole_ that pops into her head gets lost, strangled in the high keen that escapes her when he ducks down and drags his tongue through her folds.

 _Fuck_.

He seems to have chosen _now_ to internalize her earlier warning about time because there is absolutely nothing slow or gentle or teasing about the way he licks at her. He dips his tongue down and in at her center, has her gasping and bucking her hips against him, but he doesn’t linger long, just enough to taste before his tongue curls, drags on its way out. He doesn’t pull away though, stays pressed against her and drags his tongue back up in slow, broad strokes, entrance to clit and back again. His grip on her ass keeps her steady against him but his attention falls there, too, hands groping, squeezing to encourage the subtle undulation of her hips against him.

Regina leans into that, relaxes her muscles and unlocks her knees, entrusting a little more of her weight to his hands, his hold. She tosses her head back, eyes slipping shut as her nails dig into the underside of his desk, lets herself get lost in the attentions of his mouth, in the warm and the wet and the oh, _oh!_ — way his tongue steadily picks up pace, each lick just shy of firm enough. There’s a version of her, somewhere, that would never allow this, or would be far too preoccupied with trying not to fulfill expectations. Ruby is a faint whisper in the back of her brain somewhere, Belle an echo and Will far off and distant, but Regina is too far gone from any version of herself that isn’t completely head over heels for the man with his face between her thighs to care.

Because getting lost in this — in _him_ is easy, it always has been, and there’s something altogether… comforting about being able to be free with her regard, unabashed in the things she likes and the secrets that stir arousal at her core. And it’s not that she can’t be herself around her friends, but it’s — _mmm_ — different with Robin, and not just because she grants him permission to do things like this, like _fuck, shit, shit, shit_ teasing his fingers at her entrance while his tongue drags slick and hot through her folds. He doesn’t press or push his fingers inside, just touches, teases along the edges, and each sweep of his thumb pulls a groan out of her, has her heart beating hard and fast in her chest, between her thighs.

She leans against the desk a little more, shoulders rolling back as she enjoys the attention, and everything feels a bit… boneless, loose and fluid as she inhales deeply and pulls on each of her senses. The air in the office smells exactly like she expects it to, rich and smoky and with a distinct aroma of pine as the tiny fireplace in the far corner pops and crackles steadily, flooding the office with warmth. And all at once, it is Christmas in June, cozy and comfortable and creeping in around the edges, and Regina’s mind drifts, settles in the possibility of what it would be like to celebrate a holiday again — properly. Robin has always found a way to see _her_ through every spook and spectre and snowfall, and there is a _fire_ burning in her bones, smoking out the places she’d buried her yearning down deep.

She exhales, soft and slow, and makes to open her eyes, run her fingers through his hair, but she’d barely let go of the edge of the desk before he’s sucking at her clit, hard and quick. The hand she’d meant for his hair slams against his shoulder instead, fingers squeezing tight as a gasp punches out of her lungs, chin falling against her chest. She has lost all perception of time, has absolutely no idea how long he’s been at work between her thighs or how long she has before she has to go back. But she _does_ know that he’d started fast, kept pace and then built, and she feels the full force of that now even as he pulls his lips away from her clit with a soft smack. Fifty years, six weeks, any amount of time in between doesn’t matter: Regina knows her body well enough to know when she’s been brought to the brink of an orgasm far, far too quickly, and there is nothing left for her to do but let the fire spread, surging toward the storm that will catch, allow her release.

(She can’t say she minds; she certainly has no complaints.)

 _Robin_ tumbles from her lips, breathy and so, so far gone, and he pulls back just long enough to answer her call, meets her hooded gaze with one of his own. “Come for me, darling,” he murmurs, low and just shy of a growl, and when he dives back in, presses a kiss against her clit and tacks on _please_ , Regina’s hips are already rocking to meet him halfway. She’s tense again, arousal pulled taut like a string ready to snap, and she can’t help the way her knees lock in anticipation. But he doesn’t go back to her clit, not alone, and the same broad, steady strokes from entrance to clit are faster now, firm and eager in that way he _knows_ she likes, knows will bring her up and over far quicker than anything else. Her thighs _quake_ around him, pressure building as she rocks against his mouth in earnest. _Robin_ falls out of her again, right from the space between her lungs, and it’s all she can do to grip both desk and shoulder alike for purchase, eyes slipping shut once more. _Robin_ once more, unlocking the door to a steady stream of soft, hitching gasps as his tongue flicks just so against her clit at the end of every pass and she’s _so_ close, just needs a little more —

“Okay, I’m back, sorry it took so long, I decided to stop in registration to — _OH MY GOD_!”

Regina’s eyes snap open, legs faltering a little as she sucks in a startled breath at the sight of Robin’s assistant (Snow, Snow, her fucking name is Snow and Regina will never take that seriously) dropping a whole host of papers to the floor and clapping a hand over her eyes. Regina hisses out a quick _shit_ , shoves quickly at his shoulder but he’s already pulling away, on his feet and shielding her from view lightning fast as she pushes away from the desk and tries to hike her dress back down. She spares a quick thought for her underwear — she has no idea where Robin put it, but that’s of less concern at the moment. She takes a few seconds to try and catch her breath, leans against Robin until her legs stop shaking so much and resolutely ignores the heat creeping onto her cheeks.

All three of them are silent for the space of a few long, increasingly awkward beats, before Robin finally breaks it. “The door was locked,” he says, addressing Snow, and god, his voice is absolutely _wrecked_ , this could not get any worse.

“Yeah!” Snow acknowledges, voice pitched a little high, and out of the corner of her eye Regina sees Snow turn around to face the door, very deliberately presenting her back to them. “I also have a key, and _magic_ , and I figured you were trying to focus and didn’t want distractions, not that you were trying to keep out your _assistant_ who _works with you_ just so you could _fuck your girlfriend in your office_ , oh my god?!”

The breath Robin takes in response is sharp, measured, and Regina can tell he’s losing what little patience he probably had to begin with, temper flaring up a bit. And no wonder, god, he’s still hard against her, straining against his slacks, and he’s probably one light breeze away, she thinks, from this being even more mortifying than it already is. “Can you leave us for a minute?” he grits out, voice sounding a little strangled.

“Yeah!” Snow squeaks, huffing out a dry laugh and throwing her hands up in the air. “Sure! Take your time! A minute, an hour — whatever you need. You know what, why don’t _you_ come and — oh god, no, okay, just… you know where to find me when it’s safe for me to return to the office and do my job, how about that?” Regina watches her from underneath Robin’s arm, sees the way Snow takes a step forward and then stops, glancing down at the mess of papers before shaking her head and reaching for the door handle again. “Next time, maybe just… stick a sock on the door or something, okay? At least then I won’t have to go look up a recipe for a memory potion to act as bleach for my brain.” And with that, she’s pulling the door shut rather forcefully behind her, muttering _unbelievable_ as she goes.

It’s quiet again for the space of about five seconds before Regina rests her forehead against Robin’s chest and caves, body shaking with barely suppressed laughter that is absolutely not giggling (she will deny it to the end of eternity, if anyone tries to suggest otherwise). Robin _tsk_ s in disapproval, pinching her side lightly and prompting the not-giggles to burst forth from her chest. “This is _not_ funny,” he says seriously.

“I know, I know,” she chuckles, pressing her palms to his chest and looking up at him, unable to help the stupid smile on her face. “It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, and then she went and said the thing about the sock on the door and I just —” She stops, laughs high and clear and breaks eye contact, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “The irony of a fifteen year old telling _us_ to put a sock on the door was… gold,” she admits, laughter still entirely bemused even as it tapers off.

He huffs in utter exasperation with her but doesn’t pull away, just squeezes her side and shoulder. “This coming from the woman who was _mortified_ that her _adult_ friend caught us doing quite a bit more than _necking_ in the library a few months ago.”

“That was different,” she argues, looking back up at him.

“I’ll say,” Robin says, barking out a dry laugh. “You weren’t half naked that time.”

Regina purses her lips, tries not to dwell on the way her inner thighs have become a little slippery, sticky. “Speaking of,” she drawls, “where exactly did you put my underwear?” She casts a quick glance over his pants, eyes sweeping over the pockets before she tries to reach around and search the ones in the back, but he’s grabbing hold of her wrists before she can get there, pulling her hands to his chest.

“ _No_ ,” he refuses, but his voice is still tinged with traces of laughter, giving away his own amusement. “Tell me how it’s different.”

She levels him with a glare but he won’t relinquish her hands, so she allows herself the smallest of petulant pouts and shifts her eyes to where his fingers are curled around her wrists, his touch still somehow gentle and soft and bearing his usual reverence. She opens her mouth to speak, falters, exhales sharply through her nose and tries again. “We weren’t — we hadn’t put a label on things yet, back then,” she argues, surprised and honestly a little annoyed at the way her voice grows quiet. “We didn’t know what we were.”

A beat, and then, “Having a bit of a moment over Snow referring to you as my girlfriend, are we?”

She snaps her head up with an annoyed _tsk_ , taking advantage of the proximity to bat at his chest. “I’m not fifteen, _fox_.”

“No,” he muses, lips twisting into a smile, “you’re just twice —”

“ _Careful_ , Locksley,” she warns, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I don’t care if it is your birthday, you do _not_ want to go there.”

He relinquishes one of her hands to hold up his own in surrender, but he brings it back to her almost immediately, settling against her neck just below the curve of her jaw. “What’s this really about?” he prompts gently. “You normally don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.”

“That’s… sort of my point,” she explains, adjusting her hand in his to lace their fingers together. “I _don’t_ care what other people think — I mean, not that I don’t value my friends’ opinions, but we were still… figuring us out, back in March. Being walked in on meant that they had questions I didn’t have the answers to, and I didn’t want…”

“To be public for the sake of it,” Robin supplies. “Whatever we were was none of their business.”

Regina smiles and curls her free hand up around to the back of his neck, arching up for a quick kiss. “Still isn’t,” she hums as she pulls away, “but now that _we_ know what we are, there aren’t as many questions, and that’s all I really need to…”

“To know we can trust one another to show up,” he says, and the look in his eyes is back in full force, daring her heart to beat itself out of her chest. She takes a breath to try and bring her heart back to rest, only managing a slight nod in reply. The corner of his mouth turns up into a soft smile, his thumb sweeping idly over the back of her hand before he curls in a little closer. “Can I ask you something then?” Regina merely _hmm_ s her assent, gaze falling to his lips. “As far as appropriate ways to show up are concerned,” he muses, and she’s _almost_ distracted enough that she nearly misses the way his voice drops an entire register and oh, oh _no_ , “why do cupcakes count and cunnilingus doesn’t?”

With a heavy sigh, Regina presses the tip of her finger to Robin’s forehead and slowly pushes him away, eyes narrowing pointedly once he’s far enough away to see her clearly. “It’s not the oral that doesn’t count,” she says dryly, pulling her hand away and trying to remember _why_ , exactly, she’s fallen for this idiot. “It’s the fact that among your more ill-advised ideas, sex in your office in the middle of the work day ranks up there pretty high.”

“I seem to recall you being the one to tell me to lock the door.”

“Yes, well,” she says, bristling a little, “you somehow keep managing to rope me into going along with said terrible ideas.”

“And yet you keep agreeing to them,” Robin counters, teasing. Regina huffs indignantly, and she forces herself to look away, lips pursed to prevent a smile. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, stepping in a little closer again and hooking an arm around her waist to pull her to him. “Why don’t you take that,” he suggests, nodding behind her until she glances over her shoulder at the long-since forgotten box containing his cupcake, “and… save it for tonight? I can pop over, after work,” he murmurs, lips pressed against her ear. Begrudgingly, Regina turns to face him, smile harder to suppress than before. All Robin matches her bluster with is warm eyes and fingers tracing her brow, pushing hair away from her face and oh, right, there it is. She _knew_ she liked him for a reason. “We can order takeout from the place that makes the samosas and I,” he finishes with a sigh, squeezing her hip meaningful, “can finish my dessert.”

She arches an eyebrow at him, curious and maybe a touch surprised. “It’s _your_ birthday,” she reminds him. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Positive,” he affirms with a smile, running his thumb along her lower lip.

“Yeah, that doesn’t hold a whole lot of weight anymore,” she drawls, glancing pointedly at the door.

Robin’s jaw jumps in irritation, but there’s a smile there, beneath all of that twisted indignance, and it doesn’t take him long at all to turn the tables on her again, eyes sparking with their usual (oh god, she’s _screwed_ ) mischief. He raises an eyebrow at her, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary, and Regina is utterly unprepared for the shock of his skin against hers when he dips his hand back up underneath her dress and drags a finger through her folds. A half-gasp startles out of her, her hips jerking into his hand, but he’s gone as quickly as he’d dived in, withdrawing his hand and bringing it up on display between them. She can see all of the wet slick he’s gathered along his middle finger, notes the way it glistens under the lamplight, and he waits until the second her eyes shift to meet his before he’s sucking the finger into his mouth to lick it clean.

Yeah, she’s definitely fucked.

And with far, far too much flair for dramatics, Robin removes his finger with a too-loud _pop_ and licks his lips, savoring the taste of her. “I’m sure,” he says lightly, smirking at her, and if it weren’t his goddamn birthday, she would already be plotting out ways to return the favor and enact a little payback.

As it is, her brain kind of short-circuits for a minute and leaves her unable to do much else beyond yanking him to her and bruising a kiss to his lips, fingers threading through his hair. He’s still smirking into that first kiss, and the second, but she thinks she’s managed to kiss it off by the third, and there’s an equal fervor to the way he meets her kisses. His arm is still hooked tight around her, keeping her flush against him, and though he’s not quite as worked up as he was a little while ago she can still feel him, warm and wanting against her belly.

Perhaps there’s an advantage to postponing their afternoon delight. After all, if nothing else, the one thing Robin has managed to prove to her in the last six, seven, eight months since they met is that he is absolutely worth waiting for. And more than the obvious indication of his arousal or the saucy little way he’d savored her a minute ago, when the pull apart, the look in Robin’s eyes — the one she’s become more and more familiar with since April — reminds her that for him, she’s worth waiting for, too. So Regina merely smiles, nudges her nose against his, and seals the deal with a kiss. “It’s a date.”

They’re a little slow in pulling themselves together, each of them indulging in a little magic to assist with what would otherwise be a haphazard clean-up. She finds herself a little grateful, now, that things had only gone as far as they did: it means she doesn’t really have to get dressed beyond shrugging back into her coat — although with Snow’s little interruption, Regina thinks that doesn’t exempt her from performing some sort of walk of shame here. She doesn’t have much time left — she’s been here nearly an hour as it is, and she still has to stop at Oversight for copies of the films she needs — but Robin seems entirely unconcerned by the fact. He makes a point to hold open her coat for her to step back into, indulges himself by wrapping his arms around her waist after she pulls it back on, and the way he nuzzles against her neck makes it very, very hard to find the wherewithal to actually _leave_. “Robin,” she groans, leaning back against him, “you’re the one who suggested we reconvene later.”

“I know,” he sighs against her skin, still refusing to let go. “I’m reconsidering. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get much work done, the rest of the day. ‘m just going to keep picturing you leaning against the edge of my desk and —”

“— and you weren’t the one who was on the verge of an orgasm before we had to put on the brakes,” she reminds him, teasing. She manages to turn around in his embrace and offers up a warm smile, darting a quick kiss to his nose. “If I can manage, so can you.”

“Oh _fine_ ,” he grumbles, but he leans in one last time anyway to press a warm kiss against her lips, lingering a little too long. “I’ll make good on that later.”

Regina lingers, too, fingertips dancing along the exposed skin where his collar’s still undone, but she doesn’t kiss him back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When she pulls the office door shut behind her, purse slung over her shoulder and box back in hand, she’s almost positive she hears an honest-to-god _whine_ come out of his mouth when she leaves.

Her lips curve into a smile; two can play at that game.

She lingers in the outer office before she leaves the building completely, lip worried between her teeth as she considers Robin’s assistant. Snow has turned her desk chair around to face the wall, has her computer perched upon her lap, and in lieu of something more practical like noise-cancelling headphones, she’s tugged on a pair of actual earmuffs to block out any sound. Regina honestly feels a little bad about traumatizing the poor girl, but she can’t exactly take it back, and there _are_ ways Snow can modify her memory if she’d rather forget the whole thing ever happened.

And there is… more than a good chance that Regina will have to endure _some_ manner of ribbing from Ruby upon her return, so for now, Snow can be Robin’s to deal with.

The walk back out of Christmas Town is decidedly quicker, though Regina thinks that’s more to do with how thoroughly distracted she still is and not at all with how fast she may or may not be walking. She’s more impervious to the cold than usual, even with the light snowfall that had started sometime in the last hour, and when she re-materializes up in the Grove, she finds that she’s suddenly very, very grateful Robin had suggested coming over to her place tonight instead.

The sun might never shine in Halloween Town, but it’ll be much, much easier to keep warm.

Her trip into Oversight _does_ put her well past her allotted hour for lunch, though, and even though it hardly matters — she’d been working at the end there, after all — she sure Ruby will find a way to not-comment on her tardiness regardless. Still, she doesn’t have to give Ruby _more_ to work with, so Regina stops off in the restroom in the lobby to give herself a once-over in a mirror and touch up any last missed marks or stray hairs. And when she walks into the outer office, it’s with a flip of her hair and her head held high, only sort of looking Ruby in the eye. “I stopped off in Oversight,” she says, reaching into her purse and unearthing one of the cases. “Picked up the Branagh version of _Frankenstein_ for you since I was in the market for the original, though I don’t know _what_ you see in this disastrous interpretation.”

“Blame Vic,” Ruby tosses back needlessly, but she takes the case from Regina anyway and tucks it away in her bag. “Nice lunch?”

“Yes,” Regina says primly, turning away a little too quickly. “I’m going back to work — let me know when you take your lunch.”

“Mmhmm,” Ruby responds idly, and she’s already turned her attention back to her work when Regina chances a glance back over her shoulder. She breathes a little easier, manages to get one foot over the threshold into her office before Ruby calls after her. “Hey boss?”

“Yes, Ruby,” Regina sighs, gripping the door frame and looking over at her expectedly.

Ruby doesn’t even look up at her this time when she speaks, just points a finger aimlessly in her direction. “Underwear’s sticking out of your coat pocket.”

Regina snaps her head down, breath catching in her chest at the sight of her lingerie just… dangling there for all the world to see, and she feels absolutely justified at the flare of infuriated indignance that rises up as she quickly stuffs her underwear down to the bottom of the pocket.

 _Fine_. If Robin Locksley wants to play with fire, then Regina’s going to make sure it’s a slow burn.


End file.
